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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27319378">meet me in the woods</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrymegtargaryen/pseuds/merrymegtargaryen'>merrymegtargaryen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Barkskins (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Gen, Know that I love you, Loup-garou | Rougarou, eventual hamish/renardette, featuring a very extensive au based on a throwaway line, i am fully not expecting anyone to read this but if you do</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:36:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,939</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27319378</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrymegtargaryen/pseuds/merrymegtargaryen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"She has the mark of the devil."<br/>"It is a birthmark. Nothing more."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hamish Goames &amp; Renardette, Yvon Kirkpatrick/Elisabeth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/itslaurenmae/gifts">itslaurenmae</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I took a little journey to the unknown<br/>And I come back changed, I can feel it in my bones<br/>I fucked with the forces that our eyes can't see<br/>Now the darkness got a hold on me<br/>Holy darkness got a hold on me</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>October 1693</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Renardette smiles down at him, her face bloody and bright and smiling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ever since he came to Wobik, there’s been some riddle he’s been trying to answer...and all of a sudden, the answer stands right in front of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Little fox.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She crouches down beside him, her hand moving to the birthmark on his neck, the one he’s kept hidden beneath high collars and long hair. She touches her fingers to the mark as if she’s seen it before. But that’s impossible...isn’t it? He’s been so careful to hide it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are like me,” she tells him in that soft, uncertain voice of hers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish stares up at her. “Am I?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tilts her head. “Your skin. You can change it, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shakes his head. “I’ve never changed my skin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you </span>
  <em>
    <span>can,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she persists. “Like I can.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Some part of him knows that he can. He’d felt it that night in the woods, when he’d killed Randall and something wild and fierce had taken hold of him. His scream had been silent, but bubbling underneath he had felt a wolf’s howl. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had shaken him, that unheard howl. He’d wanted to talk to Yvon about it, Yvon who he trusts with all his secrets...but even that had felt too dangerous to share with his dearest friend. Some part of him that had always been there woke that night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And now, with Renardette kneeling beside him, peering into his eyes, that part is not just awake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s consuming him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How?” he asks, voice hoarse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know. I was born this way. Maybe you were too.” She touches the bullet hole in his chest. “This should have killed you. But you’re still alive.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did not stop the bullet.” She bites her lip. “I’m going to pull it out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What--” he starts, but she’s already reaching into the wound, deft little fingers plucking the bullet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He growls in pain, and he’s horrified to hear the wolf in that growl. Renardette pulls out her bloody fingers, a something small and round glinting between them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The lead bullet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look,” she says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I see it,” he says brusquely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, </span>
  <em>
    <span>look.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Her other hand points to the wound in his chest. The hole is closing, the flow of blood thinning to a trickle, and suddenly there is no wound at all, just a bloodstain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish stares up at Renardette, bewildered. “How’s that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Our skin. It’s different. Look.” She takes the bloody arrowhead she’d used to kill Ratahsenthos and holds out her palm, slicing it neatly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t!” Hamish shouts, sitting up, but the flesh begins to knit until all that is left is a bloody line. He takes her hand, thumb moving over the place where her cut should be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s nothing there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See?” She reaches around him, lifting his curtain of hair to find his birthmark. “Yours is shaped like a wolf.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What does that mean? That I can change my skin into a wolf’s, and you can change yours into a fox’s?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can be a fox, or a wolf, or a rabbit.” She sits back. “I like rabbits, but I don’t like being one. Everyone tries to hurt rabbits. No one tries to hurt wolves.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wolves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That day Yvon and I found you…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were the wolf on the path?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” She looks back at him, unshaken. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And...the wolf at the cabin…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me.” She tilts her head. “You’re one of the Hudson’s Bay Company men, but...you aren’t like the others.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I should hope not.” Hamish pushes himself to his feet, surprisingly steady despite everything, and starts to head down the slope. “We should head for Quebec City. Alert the authorities of the attack on Wobik. Perhaps it’s not too late--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Pro pelle cutem.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stops, looking at the girl. “A pelt for a skin, yes. The Company’s motto.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stands up too, a strange look in her eyes. “It will be faster if we trade our skins for pelts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He swallows. “Is it...easy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not at first, but you will get used to it.” She walks down the slope towards him, taking his hand and pressing it to the mark on his neck. “It helps if you think about it. The wolf.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t want to think about the wolf inside him, but it’s been woken from a lifelong slumber and is clawing to get out now. He breathes shakily, watching her. “Alright.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Close your eyes. Think about the wolf. Feel your skin turn to fur. Feel your teeth turn long and sharp.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He does as she says; he feels the air shift around him, the ground move beneath his feet, and when he opens his eyes, he is staring into the amber eyes of a little fox. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Renardette.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She blinks at him, and though her eyes are amber now, he somehow knows they belong to Renardette. Her bushy tail flicks, and then she is turning, little paws carrying her over the forest floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish follows, unsteady at first on his four legs...but he finds his balance, and at a yip from the fox, bounds forward, his paws carrying him so swiftly he feels like he’s flying. He breaks into a run, Renardette racing to keep up with him, and throws back his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A long, loud howl fills the woods, and for the first time he can ever remember, Hamish feels free.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>In the year 1678, Diane Laurent disembarked from a ship in Québec City along with twenty other </span>
  <em>
    <span>filles du roi.</span>
  </em>
  <span> All of them were bright-eyed, hopeful girls and women who wanted to make a new life for themselves in a New France. Most of them were commoners, girls with no money who could never aspire to much. Some of them had lives they wanted to leave behind, pasts that took the crossing of an ocean to erase.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Diane had a secret.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As their boat rowed into harbor, she reached up to touch the little mark just below her hairline. She wore her hair down so no one would see it, but if anyone looked closely, they would see a thumbnail-sized mark with two horns. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The nuns taught them how to be good wives in this strange new land. Diane learned how to make bread, how to brew beer, how to shoot a gun, and how to dress game, all skills she would need to know if she was to help her future husband. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is no place for delicate flowers,” Mother Claude told the girls. “You have come here to birth a new nation, and birth is hard and bloody, and not everyone survives. You must be strong. You must be prepared for anything. You must be a mother in every sense of the word.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They had been in New France for almost a month when the city hosted an evening for the </span>
  <em>
    <span>filles du roi</span>
  </em>
  <span> to meet the local society. The women would get to meet local clergymen, administrators, wives whom they could talk to frankly about what it is like to be a woman in New France, and most importantly, prospective husbands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Some of the women held back, shy at the prospect of so many eager men.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Diane had no such compunctions. She was just as eager to find a husband, one who could take her away from all these people. She was probably the only woman at this assembly who wanted to live out in the woods. While the other </span>
  <em>
    <span>filles</span>
  </em>
  <span> dreamt of marrying a wealthy fur trader or respected magister here in the city, Diane dreamt of a woodcutter with a cabin out in the middle of nowhere. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was part of why she had left France. There were too many people, even in the woods. It was hard, to be herself there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Diane looked for the men with rough hands and sun-tanned faces. She found a few, abandoning her interest when they said they were brothers who lived on adjoining properties. One old man seemed promising, as he would die in a few years and Diane would have the house and property, until he told her he had five children from his first wife, the oldest being only twelve. That was no good, for he would die soon and she’d be left to raise his brats, who would inherit the property and boot her off whenever they pleased. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Luck came at last with a wall-eyed man who seemed almost embarrassed at being there. His name was François Poignet, and he was tall, slow-witted, and a woodcutter whose nearest neighbor was miles away. He had no brothers, no children, and no reason to suspect Diane was anything less than sincere in her attention. After all, what would she have to gain from this match? While the other </span>
  <em>
    <span>filles</span>
  </em>
  <span> were trying to catch the eyes of rich and handsome men, Diane was talking to </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the end of the night, François was half in love with her and fully determined to make her his bride. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They married only days later, along with the other </span>
  <em>
    <span>filles du roi</span>
  </em>
  <span> who had found matches at the assembly. It was a simple ceremony; because of the need for marriages, the church had agreed to expedite the process. Instead of reading banns or asking the couples to take vows, all they had to do was sign the marriage certificate. They could have a proper ceremony later, if they wished, but Diane had no such wish. Her only wish was to go to her new home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They rode away in a cart laden with goods from the market; because he lived so far from everything, he had to stock up whenever he came to the city, her new husband explained. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was fine by Diane. She wanted to be far from everything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>François’s cabin was truly far from everything. They’d had to stop for the night in the woods; François made space for her in the back of the cart while he slept on a bedroll on the ground, his musket in his hands should a wild creature find them in the night. But Diane wasn’t worried about wild creatures. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> a wild creature. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They reached his cabin mid-morning. It was clear an unmarried man lived here, and though he’d done his best to tidy, the place was still unkempt. Well, that was alright. Diane would manage things. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She set to work baking and cleaning while he left her for his day’s work. When he returned in the evening, it was to a fine dinner of vegetable stew and fresh bread and a tidied cabin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After, they consummated their union in his rickety bed. It was all as it should have been; it did not hurt overmuch, she bled a respectable amount, and François seemed appropriately awed. She smiled and murmured that now they were truly man and wife, and if God was good, they would have strong and healthy sons.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She said everything he wanted to hear. She wanted to make him happy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Happy men don’t know when they’re being lied to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Diane settled into her new life with ease. She quickly figured out what chores needed doing, what food to make and when, how to fire a pistol and dress game. Most importantly, she figured out her new husband’s schedule.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took a few weeks for her to feel confident in how long he would spend out chopping wood, and how long she would have without completely neglecting her chores. Only then did she allow herself to slip into her second skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It felt so </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> to become a wolf again. She hadn’t changed once since leaving France, and the wolf pelt felt warm and familiar around her. She stretched, her claws digging into the earth...and when she felt ready, she bounded through the woods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Miles of forest rushed past her, her feet barely touching the ground as she flew through the trees. She ran until she could not run anymore, and only then did she turn back for the cabin and slip into her woman’s skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do you keep smiling?” François asked her that night. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because,” she said with another smile, “I haven’t felt this good since I left France.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Several times a week, while François was out chopping wood, Diane would slip into her second skin and roam the woods. It was easier to do it here, where there was so much unpeopled woodland. It had been harder in France, where people were always coming and going. Out here, Diane could spend hours in her wolfskin without ever running across another person.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were other wolves in the woods, but most of them hid during the day, and preferred to roam at night. Diane had roamed at night in France, as most wolves did, but she could not do that anymore, not with her husband lying right beside her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At times, Diane resented him. He was a kind man, and he loved her, but he was stupid, and he would never truly understand her. Every day she lied to him, and every day he accepted the lie, preferring to believe that she was in love with him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At other times, she felt guilty for this resentment. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> kind and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> love her, and not many women could say the same of their own husbands. And being his wife gave her the freedom to be herself, her </span>
  <em>
    <span>true</span>
  </em>
  <span> self. Not even in France had she been afforded that opportunity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yet she was lonely at times, for as much as she loved being able to </span>
  <em>
    <span>be</span>
  </em>
  <span> alone, she wished she could share her secret with someone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So it came as a great joy when she realized that she was with child. A joy, and a terror. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Would the child be like her? Would they understand her? Would she be able to share with them the secrets she had spent the last ten years unraveling?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On a cold winter’s day, she was delivered of a baby girl. When she pulled the squalling babe from between her legs, Diane saw a red mark on the back of her neck. A red mark shaped like a horned figure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My God,” François swore, “she is marked by the devil.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Diane laughed, bringing the child to her breast, “she is perfect.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They named the girl Léonardette, for François’s father, but they only ever called her Baby</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Diane doted on the child, and when a Mi’kmaw woman showed her how to wrap her baby in a sling and carry her, the two were never apart. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Baby was a quiet but curious child, always happy to follow her mother around the cabin or the property. François built her a cradle, and later a bed, putting them in a corner of the cabin, but she always found her way to her parents’ bed, nestling into her mother’s side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was five the first time she changed skins. Diane showed her how to slip out of her girl skin, and watched in pride and amazement as her daughter pulled on the skin of a rabbit, and relief when her daughter slipped back into her girl skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We mustn’t tell Papa, hmm?” she said, and Baby nodded and smiled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almost every day, mother and daughter changed skins and roamed the woods. Baby learned to become every animal she looked upon, but her favorite was always a fox. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a few years, they were happy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But as Diane and Baby’s happiness grew, François’s diminished. He wanted sons and he wanted his wife to dote on him, but they could not make sons with their daughter climbing into their bed every night and his wife would not dote on him as long as she was doting on their daughter. He began carrying Baby back to bed every night and calling her a spoiled child, and when she disobeyed or was slow to her chores, he took to spanking her. Diane intervened whenever he raised a hand to their child, but she soon learned that he did not hesitate raising a hand to his wife, either. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The freedom and happiness of those first few years was gone. Diane and Baby--or Léonardette, as her father insisted on calling her now--lived with their heads down, quiet and unsmiling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Diane often thought of taking Baby and leaving. They wouldn’t get far in the human world...but perhaps they could leave in their second skins. Diane liked living as a wolf, and Baby seemed to like living as a fox. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>In the spring,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she promised herself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We will leave when the ice thaws and it’s safe to go.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But when spring came, they could not go, because Diane was with child.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Diane was in misery. To have the child meant to stay with her terrible husband and subject her daughter to further abuse, but to leave with a newborn would be unthinkable. Baby had not changed her skin until she was five; could Diane and Baby wait five more years?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In truth, Diane was not even sure she could make it five more months. She had felt happy and glowing when she was carrying Baby, but this child weighed heavily on her and left her feeling exhausted all the time. More and more, she was beginning to rely on Baby. Her daughter took on her new duties without a word of complaint, and suffered her father’s abuse in silence. Each night, Diane buried her face in her pillow and wept as quietly as she could. She had come to New France to start a new life, a better life...but how was this life better than her last?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a hot summer day when she went into labor. It felt wrong from the start, and as she pushed, she began to understand that she was not going to survive. There was too much pain and too much blood, and she was frightened. She was more frightened than she could ever remember being in her whole life, even when she’d become--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Baby,” she said, for her daughter had not left her side since her labor pains began. “Fetch some fresh water from the spring.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Baby looked doubtful. “Now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We will need hot water for the baby. Lots of it. Take two buckets.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Baby did, looking back at her mother. “Will you be alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Diane forced a smile. Her beautiful, perfect little girl. Her little fox. “Yes, my love. The baby is slow to come, that’s all. Don’t you fret.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as the little girl was gone, Diane began to weep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The spring was a long walk from the house. Baby walked quickly, filling up the buckets and carrying them back to the cabin as fast as she could without spilling. The walk felt interminable, the path to the cabin growing longer with each step she took. Her mother had said the baby was slow to come, but Baby didn’t want to leave her alone for so long. What if the baby changed their mind and decided to come sooner? What if something happened? What if—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pushed open the cabin door at long last, and dropped the buckets of spring water. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woods rang with her screams.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Father buried Maman with the stillborn baby in her arms, fixing a crude headstone over their grave. Baby wept as the earth covered them, knowing she would never see her mother’s smile or hear her laugh or feel her warm embrace again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her father struck her across the face, right before the grave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You did this,” he told her, face red. “You killed her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Baby wept, but she held her tongue, because she knew it was true. She had left her mother to get water from the spring. If she had only stayed, she could have done something, anything…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were marked by the devil. I have always said it,” he continued, spitting on the ground. “Your mother spoiled you, and you thank her by killing her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Baby did not know what to say. Disgusted, her father walked away, leaving her sprawled over her mother’s grave. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Father had been bad before, it was nothing compared to life without Maman. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Baby was expected to take on all her mother’s chores, and if she fell short, Father let her know his displeasure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Witch,” he’d call her, as if that was her name. Not Baby. Not even Léonardette.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Witch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every day she bore his abuse. Every day she slaved over keeping the cabin, and the moments she could slip into her fox skin became fewer and farther between. Every day, she grew to hate her father a little more, until one day she knew she could not bear it anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the day she turned ten years old, she slipped into her rabbit’s skin and went to find her father. He was chopping trees, and she waited and watched until he set down his axe to drink from his waterskin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The little rabbit bounded forward, and as soon as she reached the axe, she slipped back into her girl skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What--” François Poignet asked, but she swung the axe and cut his left leg to the bone. He screamed, a scream that echoed through the empty woods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In a flash, the girl had slipped back into her rabbit’s skin and she watched as he crawled towards the cabin, crying out. No one would hear him out here. She knew that, and she counted on it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She watched him crawl until he could not, and she watched him gasp until he could not. And when he lay dead and frozen, she turned into a girl just long enough to throw the axe at his side. Then, she became a fox, and left everything behind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The days melted together. It was winter, then spring, then summer, then fall, then winter again. All the while, the girl stayed in her fox skin, for she felt safer there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She forgot what it was to be a girl, and not a fox. She forgot how it felt to walk on two legs and not four. She forgot how to speak. She even forgot her own name. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tried to remember what it was to be a girl, sometimes. She would slide back into her girl skin just so that she wouldn’t forget, or she would become a rabbit or a wolf. She liked being a wolf, because wolves were strong and fierce, and nobody bothered them. Not like rabbits, or girls, or even foxes, as she had come to learn. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the thing about wolves was that they always ran in packs. Whenever she wore her wolfskin, she felt that longing for a pack of her own, a desire to belong. Sometimes the longing stayed with her even when she changed into a different skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She began for the first time to seek out people rather than hide from them. She would come across cabins and farms, and stay for as little as an hour or as long as a week, depending on the people. Some were kind and some only tolerated her, and she had a sense for when they wanted her gone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then she came to a house in a settlement where they didn’t want her gone. An old man and his wife, they seemed to like her, and she liked them. They fed her and clothed her and gave her a bed to sleep in, and when she told them she could not remember her name, they began to call her Angelique, for she was like a little angel to them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Angelique was happy here. She felt like she belonged, as if she had found her pack. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All was well until the fire came.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fire burned through the settlement in seconds. Angelique and the old man and his wife ran down the stairs, and the old man fended off an Iroquois wielding a tomahawk while Angelique and the woman ran.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t stop, Angelique!” the woman cried out even as a white man swung his axe, knocking her to the ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Angelique did not stop. She ran into the woods, so afraid that she forgot how to change her skin. She climbed up a tree, watching the smoke blow as the settlement burned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The men did not leave until well into the morning. She saw that they were white men and Iroquois, and they spoke the short, choppy tongue of the English. When they began to scale a tree to nail one of the men to it, she knew that they would see her; without thinking, she put on the skin of a bird, flitting from one branch to another. From up in the trees, she watched as they nailed the dead man to a tree; this done, the white men turned on to the Iroquois, slaughtering them like animals. She cried out, the bird call filling the woods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the white men passed, she saw two of them bearing a chest, and carved onto its top were the words </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pro Pelle Cutem.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>More men came and went through the following days, moving the bodies of the Iroquois and poking around the settlement. She never showed herself to them, preferring to hide out in the foxhole she made. Men had burned down her home and killed the old couple that took her in. Why should she trust more men, just because they spoke a different tongue?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes she came across the fire’s only other survivor, a Jesuit priest maddened by the flames. He had lost all his clothes save a loincloth, and he wandered through the woods murmuring and praying to himself. Sometimes he prayed over the bodies of the dead men no one had come to collect, sometimes he sang songs in Latin. He seemed not to see anything living; even when she changed into her girl skin and tried to talk to him, it was as if he could not hear or see her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He frightened her, and his chanting was so incessant that she could not sleep. She could not leave, either, though she did not know why. It was as if some force bound her to this place. Exhausted and hungry and frightened out of her wits, she lurked about the ruined settlement in her wolfskin, trying to summon a wolf’s strength and courage. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had been several days since the fire when two more men came, but one of them was not like other men. She could smell it on the air long before she saw him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He is like me.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Whatever she was, whatever her mother had been, he was one, too. It was why she did not hide from him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knelt and looked in her eyes, and she knew.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps she had found a pack, after all. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>March 1694</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sky is darkening, the inn slowly filling, and soon the dinner rush will be upon them. Renardette, as usual, is nowhere to be found.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Heavens, where is that girl?” Mathilde clucks, clattering around the kitchen. “Hamish, would you mind?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To the others, Hamish has an uncanny ability for producing Renardette when she’s nowhere to be found. What they don’t know is that the reason they often can’t find her is because they’re looking for a girl, not a rabbit or a fox or even a wolf. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish heads out to the stable, where he has a feeling he’ll find a little rabbit creeping among the hay. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There are two rabbits; the one named Bouchard, and one with the same black and grey coat as Renardette’s wolf. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mathilde is looking for you. It’s almost dinnertime.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rabbit’s nose twitches, and a moment later, Renardette the girl is standing in front of him. As usual, she doesn’t speak, just bends down to pick up Bouchard. Hamish follows her as she puts the rabbit in his hutch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know you shouldn’t change where so many people can see you,” he murmurs, glancing around the settlement. There aren’t many people about, but you never know who’s watching. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I change all the time.” A rare full sentence. “No one notices.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what if someone does?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t respond, just walks towards the inn.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Renardette.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be more careful.” She opens the door and walks inside, ending their conversation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows she won’t be more careful. Or she will, for a while, and then she’ll go back to changing in the stables or the vegetable garden. Wobik is a small settlement and people don’t often stare inside the stables or behind the inn to the garden, but that doesn’t mean it can’t happen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He follows Renardette inside, where Mathilde is already putting her to work. Hamish goes to greet the guests who are trickling inside, quietly making note of who is here and whether they’ve settled up on their bill. Most of the inn’s patrons have gotten better about paying what is owed now that Mathilde has employed him and Yvon; neither man is a stranger to occasional brute force, and neither one of them has any compunctions about using it to remove patrons who are unruly or behind on their bill. The patrons know it, too, which is why they greet Hamish with a cautious warmth, and even manage a deferential nod to Yvon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let me guess: you found a rabbit in the stables?” Yvon mutters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you guess?” Hamish returns sarcastically. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In truth, he’s glad Yvon knows his and Renardette’s secret. He hadn’t even had to tell his friend; he’d simply looked at him and known. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There are people like you in this land you call ‘new,’” his friend had said. “People who can change their skin like most people change clothes. I always thought you might be one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, always?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s a wolfishness to you, Hamish. You’ve always been just a couple steps from howling at the moon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> always been some animalistic side of Hamish he’d never fully understood. His father hadn’t tolerated any misbehavior, though; he was of the mind that to spare the rod was to spoil the child, and he’d brought out the rod whenever he felt Hamish was in danger of being spoiled. The school in London he’d sent Hamish to had been of a similar mindset, and Hamish had learned early on that to even </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> anger or fear was to misbehave. He had learned to be calm and pleasant, and to ignore the growling animal inside him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Renardette had been born with the animal, too, but she knew she got it from her mother. Hamish doesn’t even know where his came from. It could have been his mother, who died giving birth to him, but if so, wouldn’t Alice have the same animal? She had never said anything to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If he wasn’t so determined to never speak to her again, he would ask her. But killing Randall had felt like he was killing Alice, in a way. It may as well have been. Alice and her son relied on Randall, and now that he’s gone, what will they do? She’d left Kirkwall to marry an English husband, and then they’d left England so Hamish and Randall could work for the Company. Will Alice stay here, in the New World? Or will she return to England or even Kirkwall?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish doesn’t know, and he doesn’t want to. He’d ensured that Randall’s earnings and pension were paid to Alice, and he’d even sent her half of his earnings before he and Yvon departed for Wobik again. He’d tried to write a letter explaining things; it had ended up being a few sentences, apologizing for failing to bring back her husband and for abandoning her now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She will forgive him, his sweet sister, and that’s why he doesn’t think he can ever face her again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the inn fills with hungry men, he tries to put all thoughts of his sister from his mind, focusing on the here and now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is grateful to Mathilde for taking in him and Yvon. In truth, he thinks she is just as grateful for the extra pairs of hands, and all they require in return is a place to sleep and food to eat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish likes working at the inn. He’s always had a way with numbers, and Mathilde has surrendered the books to his capable hands. There are other tasks she assigns him, too, none of them nearly as satisfying as sitting down to balance out the books, but he doesn’t mind. In fact, he likes having the work to keep him occupied, to keep him from wondering what it is he’s doing here, in this small inn in this small town. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He and Yvon had both decided to hand in their resignation at the same time. Neither of them were like to find work as comfortable as what the Company had assigned them, but they had not in good conscience been able to stay after...well, everything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The question now is how </span>
  <em>
    <span>long</span>
  </em>
  <span> they’re going to stay. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish has no obligations now that he’s cut ties with Alice and the Company, and he knows that Yvon has little to no interest in going “home,” if such a place even exists for him. The son of an Irishman and an Anishinaabe woman, he has always been straddling two worlds, but never seeming to fully belong to either. Here at Wobik, where so many are trying to find their place in the world, he has something in common with the others, something tying him to this place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That, and Hamish is fairly certain Yvon is soft for Elisabeth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had charged Yvon with protecting the girl when the Company burned down her house, and that protection has blossomed into a friendship. He’s teaching her to read and write, and if a patron ever gets handsy with her, those hands will be out of commission for at least a few weeks. More than that, though, Hamish can see the way his friend looks at the former </span>
  <em>
    <span>fille du roi,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he’s never looked at a woman like that before. Elisabeth, in turn, seems to always have a soft smile for Yvon, always seems eager to learn whatever he can teach her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’d make a good match. As a former </span>
  <em>
    <span>fille du roi,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Elisabeth has no place in Wobik save working in Mathilde’s inn; her husband is dead, and the Crown will not pay for a second dowry. She could book passage back to France, but like so many </span>
  <em>
    <span>filles,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she came here for a better life. She doesn’t seem to want to talk about her life in France, but at least here she has Mathilde and the inn.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They all have the inn, the one thing that holds them all together. Hamish, Yvon, Renardette, Elisabeth...all of them belong here, if nowhere else. This place gives them a purpose, a place to call their own when no one else seems to know what to do with them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But will it be that way forever? Hamish is so unused to staying in one place for a long period of time. The inn is his home now, but will it always be? He can’t imagine a future here, but he doesn’t know if that’s because he knows this place is temporary, or because he’s never stayed anywhere long enough to know he had a future there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thinks it might be the same way for Yvon, who was always being pushed between the Anishinaabe world and the white man’s world, and Renardette, who has always wanted to find a place that accepts her for her wild nature, and Elisabeth, who has a past she will not speak of. Maybe none of them know how long they will be here, at Le Grand Inn. Maybe it doesn’t matter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The dinner rush hits them all at once, and then very suddenly dies down. It often happens like this, but Hamish never fails to feel relieved when he catches his breath and sees only a handful of tables have diners. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door opens, bringing in a fresh gust of cold March air, and Hamish is surprised to see Delphine standing in the doorway. She has not set foot inside the inn since she was married to Mr. Cooke a month ago, which was to be expected; the villagers have never much liked Mr. Cooke, and even more so after the attack on Wobik. Delphine left the inn on good terms, but no one had expected to see her back here. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mrs. Cooke,” Hamish greets, tipping his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh please, you can still call me Delphine,” she says, and then, in stilted English, “We are friends, no?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have been learning English!” he declares, pleased.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” she says, and then switches back to French, “I am not very good, though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“English is not an easy language to learn,” Yvon tells her kindly. “Then again, neither is French.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles, clearly relieved at the pleasant reception. “I came to see Mathilde and the girls.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“By all means.” Hamish tips his head again. “You know you are always welcome here, Delphine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles again, thanking him, and moves to the kitchen. He can hear Mathilde and Elisabeth exclaim over the sound of pots and pans, their voices sounding happy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish has often found it ironic that Delphine came here as a daughter of the king, a mother to New France...yet she has married an Englishman. There had been some business with one of the Gasquet brothers; he doesn’t know the details, but he’s picked up from bits and pieces that she was found lacking, and returned to the nuns, and whatever the fault was, it had been too much for her to be married off again. He cannot imagine what deficiency a girl like Delphine might have, as she is exceedingly pretty and has always been pleasant and helpful, but he knows that neither Gasquet brother has been welcome here in recent months, and that is not like to change anytime soon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Renardette is the first woman to emerge from the kitchen, her brow furrowed. Hamish waits until she’s refilled cups and is circling back to the kitchen to call her over to where he and Yvon keep watch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s Delphine here about?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s leaving Wobik,” she says without emotion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish raises an eyebrow. “Leaving?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not forever. Just a little while. They’re going to England, then the Netherlands, and then the Orient,” she recites. “Then back here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I wish them luck,” Yvon says pleasantly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She said she would bring back a tiger claw for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That will be something,” he says with the same pleasantness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unaffected, Renardette returns to the kitchen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wise move,” Yvon says in a quieter voice. “Leaving Wobik for a while. Conducting some business overseas, making new connections and strengthening old ones; by the time he returns, people will have either forgotten or moved on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It is a wise move,” Hamish agrees. “It would be wiser still if he left permanently.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Yvon shakes his head. “Mr. Cooke has invested too much in this place. To leave forever would be to plant the seeds of a crop you never harvest. Besides, he has to settle someplace soon; he has a pretty young bride, and soon I imagine they’ll have some sons so his company can live up to its name.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose one can hardly be expected to bring along a wife and children on business ventures to the Orient,” Hamish allows. “Still, I’m not sure if Wobik’s memory is as short as you claim.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perhaps not. But he owns a great deal of land; perhaps when they return, they can build a nice big house on the cleared land, and he won’t have to deal with the people here quite so often. I don’t imagine the rooms above his shop are conducive to raising a family.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I don’t imagine so either.” Hamish considers the situation. “Do you think you’ll ever raise a family?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me? I don’t know. I’ve found it’s best not to make plans in life, as something or other will surely get in the way. Are you familiar with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Doctor Faustus, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Hamish?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Naturally.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There is a line in the first scene: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Che sera, sera.</span>
  </em>
  <span> What will be, shall be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I see.” Hamish tries not to smile. “Is this one of the texts your pupil is studying?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quiet, Hamish,” Yvon warns.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why? Does she speak English now, too?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, but you are unbearable when you are smug, and if you don’t wipe that smirk off your face, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I will.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am not smirking,” Hamish protests, even as he feels the corners of his lips quirk. “Merely inquiring as to your curriculum.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We are still working on Dryden, if you must know, and I do not care for your insinuations. You know I have no designs on Elisabeth.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Forgive me; I did not mean to insinuate anything,” Hamish apologizes. “I know you are a perfect gentleman.” He hesitates. “But--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There you go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“But,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I do not think I am wrong in suspecting that you care for our friend, and that those affections may be returned.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yvon takes his time responding. “I am not immune to her charms, and I believe she regards me with some gratefulness for defending her when the Company took her home and her husband and tried to take her virtue as well. I would not presume more than that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, of course not.” Hamish almost feels guilty for trying to tease his friend about such a sensitive subject. He should have known. It is quite one thing for Yvon to notice Elisabeth, and quite another to pursue his affections, especially in a place like this. It matters little to the people of Wobik that Yvon is a gentleman with a Harvard education; to them, he is still a </span>
  <em>
    <span>sauvage</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and they may not take kindly to such a man taking up with a ward of the king. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yet as Elisabeth comes back from making the rounds, she smiles at Yvon, and the smile he gives her in return is full of a warmth Hamish has rarely seen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yvon glances at him once Elisabeth has left. “Oh, shut up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t say anything!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can hear you thinking.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish just laughs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After dinner, when the dishes have all been cleaned and the dining room has been tidied up, the inhabitants of Le Grand Inn troop up to bed, exhausted from another long day. Hamish is the last to go up, locking the doors and pulling down the shades before he blows out the candles. Then, at long last, he makes his way up to bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sleeps hard through first sleep, the first waking coming suddenly upon him. He feels oddly alert, his body already preparing for his nightly perambulation. Pulling on his boot, coat, cloak, and hat, he moves quietly through the inn, taking care not to make too much noise on the stairs lest the others are still sleeping.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He needn’t worry; if Renardette is not already awake, she will be soon, and he finds Yvon and Elisabeth sitting together at their usual spot by the fire, Elisabeth sounding out words slowly and carefully. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Off for another walk, Hamish?” Yvon asks pleasantly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed. How are the reading lessons coming?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Very well; I have an apt pupil,” Yvon says in the same pleasant tone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elisabeth flushes, biting back a shy smile. If Yvon notices, he pretends not to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then I shall leave you to your studies,” Hamish says, bracing himself for the cold night air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is indeed cold, the icy winds of March as relentless as ever. Hamish tightens his cloak about him, his breath misting before him. No one else is out and about at this hour, everyone either asleep or enjoying their first waking in the comfort of their warm homes. Hamish the man would like very much to be enjoying his own warm bed beside a roaring fire right now...but the wolf inside is alert and eager to be set loose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He passes through the gate, unnoticed by the sentries. They are busy stamping away the cold, and anyway, they aren’t concerned about Wobik’s residents leaving for a midnight stroll; they are concerned with people who don’t belong here trying to sneak </span>
  <em>
    <span>in</span>
  </em>
  <span> to Wobik.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish waits until he’s out of sight of the sentries, and then he shakes, trading one skin for another. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s been doing this for months now, almost every night since he came back to Wobik, but it never fails to surprise him how quickly his senses change. Everything becomes clearer, sharper, and he can smell </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Including an impatient fox kit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sees a blur of orange a split second before Renardette bowls into his side, trying to knock him over. He’s bigger and more solid, though, so instead of falling over, he just stumbles, whirling around with his jaws open. He snaps twice, tail wagging when the fox kit barks. She streaks through the trees, the black wolf bounding after her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish is the first to change skins after an hour or two of running through the woods and hunting. He is always the first to change back, finding it easier to put away his pelt. Renardette is always more reluctant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come, Renardette,” he calls. “We should be getting back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Renardette emerges from the trees, walking silently beside him as they return to Wobik. She carries three squirrels by the tails, her killings for the night. In the morning, she’ll skin them and Mathilde will make a stew out of their meat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mathilde has learned to stop asking Renardette how she manages to catch so many creatures between sleeps, and to start accepting them as they come. She’s hardly complaining; her husband had never been much of a hunter, and fresh meat always came with a price. The squirrels, rabbits, and birds Renardette brings home cost nothing and harm no one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish is still learning how to hunt; or rather, how to hunt without feeling like he’s losing some part of himself. He had hunted as a man, but never as a wolf, and the experience always leaves his heart pounding as nothing ever has. It frightens him a little, how </span>
  <em>
    <span>much</span>
  </em>
  <span> he feels like a wolf when his fangs sink into flesh, his mouth filling up with blood. It frightens him how easy it is in those moments to forget that he’s a man. He fears losing himself to the wolf completely, becoming more animal than human. Renardette spent years as a fox and a wolf, and it shows. Even before he knew what she was, what they both were, he knew she was wild.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But she spent whole years as an animal, years when she should have been growing up. A few hours a night will not make me wild.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or so he hopes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a light on in the inn when they return; Renardette reaches for the door, but Hamish, glancing through the glass panes, stops her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait,” he whispers, for Yvon and Elisabeth are sitting in the same spot as before, but instead of reading, they have their arms around each other, kissing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Would not presume, indeed,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hamish thinks wryly. He wonders how long this has been going on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish and Renardette watch for a long moment before he comes to his senses; embarrassed, he mutters, “We should leave.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They can’t see us,” Renardette points out, but he shakes his head, turning away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s wrong to...watch something private like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Renardette shrugs, following him away from the door. “If they wanted it to be private, they shouldn’t be in the dining room.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This coming from the girl who changes into a rabbit in the stables where anyone can see?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gives him a guilty smile. “Well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well.” He glances back at the door. He’s loath to interrupt his friend, but it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> very cold out here, and getting late. “Did you know anything about this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes her head. “Did you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” He leans against the side of the inn. “I confess, I sensed a mutual attraction, but Yvon assured me it was just that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Renardette plucks at one of the squirrels hanging from her hand. “Mathilde won’t be happy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why not?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She hired Elisabeth to replace Delphine. If Elisabeth marries Yvon, she’ll have to replace her, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, Yvon is no Elisha Cooke,” Hamish says wryly. “He’s not like to whisk Elisabeth away to a fine house, or the Orient. In fact I’d be surprised if he left the inn at all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Renardette considers this. “So they’ll stay here when they get married?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t even know if they’ll get married.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She toes the side of the inn. “Will you ever get married?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think so.” He can’t imagine marrying a woman and having to keep...</span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> a secret. How could he? And then having children...well, that’s out of the question. If he can pass this thing onto children, then he won’t be having any. “What about you?” he returns, more to be polite than anything. He can’t imagine Renardette tolerating any man long enough to marry him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know,” she says at last. “My mother was married.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To anyone else that may sound cryptic, but Hamish knows what she means. She’s told him about her mother in bits and pieces, and he’s gathered enough to understand that it was not a happy marriage, and the sort that might discourage Renardette from taking a husband.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But,” she continues, “Delphine is married.” The rest goes unspoken; Delphine is married to a good man who loves her, a man who provides for her and whisks her away to faraway places. If Renardette could find a husband who cared for her as much as Elisha Cooke cares for Delphine, then perhaps she might consider it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That is true,” Hamish says. “It can be a bit of a gamble, I suppose.” He thinks of his sister and her husband. Alice had loved Randall, and he had seemed to love her...for a time. Perhaps in the same way that Renardette’s parents had been in love for a time. Maybe marriage is like that, where you fall in love for a time and then things begin to sour. Maybe it will be the same for Delphine and Mr. Cooke. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Renardette wanders back towards the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Renardette!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Elisabeth is gone,” she reports. “It’s just Yvon now.” She pushes open the door, Hamish following behind her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yvon is indeed alone in the room, stacking his books. “Good evening,” he says as if he wasn’t just kissing Elisabeth moments ago. “How was your walk?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Renardette thumps her dead squirrels down on a table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Those will make a fine stew.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Renardette walks wordlessly up the stairs to her room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Very chatty tonight,” Yvon comments.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish cocks an eyebrow. “I saw the end of your </span>
  <em>
    <span>reading lesson.</span>
  </em>
  <span> You wouldn’t presume, hmm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yvon has the good grace to look embarrassed. “I assure you this was the first time I...presumed. And I would not have done it had Elisabeth not kissed me first.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish is both relieved to learn Yvon had not lied to him and absurdly pleased at the thought that it was Elisabeth who initiated that kiss. “Really? Well, in that case, I forgive you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yvon jerks his head at the stairs. “Is that why she didn’t say anything?” She, of course, being Renardette.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish tries to hide a smile. “She wants to know when you’ll be married.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yvon mutters something in Anishinaabemowin that Hamish does not understand, and he has a feeling he was not meant to. Hamish laughs, clapping his friend on the arm. “I’m happy for you. Truly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just don’t say anything to anyone,” Yvon implores. “We haven’t...discussed it, and I don’t want to…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Presume?” Hamish quirks his lips. “No, I shan’t say anything. And neither will Renardette, I’m sure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh good, I was worried; I know how much she likes to gossip,” Yvon says dryly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish laughs, putting out the candles and following his friend up the stairs. Yvon may not want to presume on Elisabeth’s feelings, but Hamish is fairly certain that kiss was the first of many to come. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Winter thaws into spring, spring warms into summer, and then one morning Hamish wakes to find that he’s shivering beneath his blanket. </p><p><em> Autumn. </em> </p><p>There’s a brisk chill in the air when he opens his window; beyond the walls of Wobik, he can see the first golden streak in the leaves. It has been a year, he realizes, since he first came to this place, searching for his brother-in-law. Now he calls it home. </p><p>When he descends the stairs, it is to a noticeably quiet kitchen. </p><p>“Where are Yvon and Elisabeth?”</p><p>“Apple-picking,” Renarette says with force. “I was not allowed to go, because <em> they </em> wanted to be alone.”</p><p>“Now, now, Renardette,” Mathilde soothes, “you can go tomorrow. I’m sure Hamish will be happy to accompany you. We’ll need <em> lots </em> of apples in the coming days.”</p><p>“Yes,” Hamish offers, “we can go tomorrow.”</p><p>Renardette purses her lips, still chopping onions with more force than is strictly necessary. The closer Yvon and Elisabeth’s wedding date draws, the more often they seek opportunities to be alone, and Mathilde is always happy to indulge them. Usually Renardette does not mind, but she has been excited about the promised apple picking for weeks now, and Yvon and Elisabeth getting to go before her stings. </p><p>Hamish follows Mathilde out to the dining room as she lays down fresh tablecloths. “I should have let her go, I know,” she murmurs, smoothing the white cloth. “I could have just sent her and Elisabeth. But you and Yvon are quite useless in the kitchen, and this stew will not cook itself.”</p><p>“I understand,” Hamish says dryly. “And I’m sure the slight will be forgotten tomorrow.”</p><p>“Let us hope Yvon and Elisabeth save some of the best apples for you two.”</p><p>“I doubt they will come back with very many at all,” Hamish points out, quite sure that the soon-to-be-married couple would rather spend the day in each other’s arms than picking apples.</p><p>Mathilde considers this. “I think you are right. Perhaps I <em> should </em> have sent Renardette with them…”</p><p>“Then it would be just me helping you in the kitchen, and our patrons would suffer for it.”</p><p>Mathilde chuckles. “Well, I suppose you have the right of it.” She’s quiet for a moment as she and Hamish ready the room for guests. “Soon it will be Renardette’s turn.”</p><p>“To pick apples?” </p><p>“To get married. First it was Delphine, now Elisabeth...soon it will be Renardette’s turn.”</p><p>“I suppose,” Hamish allows, “but not for some time yet. She’s still young.”</p><p>“True,” says Mathilde, “but she will be seventeen this winter, and many girls get married at that age.”</p><p>Seventeen still seems very young to Hamish, but then, it’s always been different for girls. Girls are expected to marry as soon as they can reasonably bear children, but men are not expected to marry until they have the means to provide for a family. “I cannot imagine our Renardette marrying anyone, at seventeen or at seventy.”</p><p>“Perhaps not. She does not seem to like men generally. Saving yourself, of course.”</p><p><em> If only you knew why, </em> he thinks wryly. “In fairness to her, most men are not generally likable.”</p><p>“Well, that’s true,” Mathilde agrees. “Still, I would like to see her married, and taken care of before I die.”</p><p>“You will not die for some time, and Yvon and I will take good care of Renardette, whatever happens.” </p><p>“I will hold you to that, Hamish.”</p><p>.</p><p>Renardette’s sour mood does not dissipate over the day; if anything, it only grows worse when Yvon and Elisabeth finally do return from apple-picking, flushed and a bit giddy. </p><p>“You didn’t bring enough apples,” she complains, sifting through the day’s bounty. </p><p>“Well, you and Hamish can pick more tomorrow,” Mathilde says in a no-nonsense sort of tone. “And the day after, if you like.”</p><p>Renardette says nothing, but Hamish can see that she’s appeased. Any excuse to go outdoors, especially during the day. </p><p>The sound of shattering glass comes from the dining room; exchanging looks, the five of them run to the dining room, where a rock wrapped in paper lies on the floor, shards of glass all around it. </p><p>“Stand back,” Hamish orders the women, who freeze in their tracks. He leans against the wall, peering out the window while Yvon stoops to pick up the rock.</p><p>“Who threw it? Can you see?” Mathilde asks.</p><p>But the streets are empty save the occasional passersby, and no one seems to be paying attention to the inn. He shakes his head. “I don’t see anyone.”</p><p>“There’s a note,” Yvon says, untying the twine holding the paper to the rock. He unrolls it, reading aloud. “‘Get out English, <em> sauvage, </em> and <em> loup-garou. </em>’”</p><p>“Good heavens,” Mathilde murmurs, arms tight around Renardette and Elisabeth. “Who would do such a thing?”</p><p>“Off the top of my head? Almost every man in Wobik,” Yvon says wryly. </p><p>Hamish reads the note over his shoulder, frowning. “What does<em> loup-garou </em> mean?”</p><p>“Oh, it’s...like a wolf,” Mathilde says. “But a man.”</p><p>“I believe in English, they are called werewolves,” Yvon says gently.</p><p><em> Werewolves. </em> </p><p>Hamish looks at Renardette, her eyes wide with fear.</p><p><em> Someone knows. </em> </p><p>.</p><p>Everyone at the inn is a little on edge for the rest of the day. Even though Mathilde and Elisabeth think the <em> loup-garou </em> is a ridiculous accusation, they are unnerved at the thought that someone hates Hamish and Yvon so badly as to throw a rock through the window.</p><p>Hamish, Renardette, and Yvon are even more unnerved. They dare not talk of it until they can be sure of not being overheard, which may not be until late tonight. </p><p>So they carry on with the dinner rush as usual, hoping that whoever threw the rock doesn’t stir up more trouble at their busiest (and most profitable) time of day. Hamish and Yvon watch everyone who enters carefully, trying to decide if any of their patrons were responsible for the rock. </p><p>“What happened to the window?” someone will occasionally ask, and Hamish will watch them when he says, “Looks like someone threw a rock. Did you see anything?”</p><p>“No,” they always say, “I didn’t see anything.”</p><p>Hamish can’t tell if they’re lying or not.</p><p>But whoever it was clearly takes issue with him, Yvon, and Renardette, so they’re not like to eat here. But then again, this is the <em> only </em> place to eat in the vicinity, and perhaps a patron who has no wife and cannot cook himself takes issue with the only dining establishment in Wobik hiring such unsavory characters as English and Anishinaabe.</p><p>And<em> loup-garou </em>, apparently.</p><p>That’s the part that unnerves Hamish the most. The hatred between the English and the French is understandable, and the hatred white men have for nonwhite men, while not understandable, is at least a common prejudice. But for someone to know that there’s a <em> loup-garou </em> living here…</p><p>And which one are they talking about? Hamish and Renardette can both change, and both can become wolves. It is Hamish’s preferred form while Renardette favors a fox, but the note said English <em> and loup-garou. </em> Do they mean the English person and the person who is a  <em> loup-garou? </em> Or do they mean the person who is both English and <em> loup-garou? </em></p><p>He voices the question to Yvon as soon as the dinner rush has slowed enough for the two men to step outside on the pretext of catching a breath of fresh air. </p><p>“I’ve been wondering that myself,” Yvon murmurs. “And who they were referring to will make a difference.”</p><p>“Will it?”</p><p>The other man nods. “If it’s Renardette, it’s possible they’re just inventing an accusation based on her birthmark. But if it was you…”</p><p>If it was Hamish, it means they saw him change, and aren’t just making an accusation out of thin air. </p><p>“But the same could be said of Renardette,” he counters. “Maybe they <em> did </em> see her change.”</p><p>“But doesn’t she usually take the form of a fox?”</p><p>“Yes, but she has changed into a wolf before, and maybe <em> loup-garou </em> doesn’t mean a werewolf, maybe it just means...someone who change their skin.”</p><p>“I suppose that’s true.”</p><p>The door opens, and both men tense, but it’s only Renardette, closing the door behind them to join them in the crisp evening air. </p><p>“Do you know who did it?” she asks.</p><p>“Not a clue.”</p><p>She rubs her arms against the cold. “Do you think...someone saw?”</p><p>“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Hamish tells her as he takes off his coat, draping it over her shoulders. “It’s possible someone just doesn’t like your birthmark.”</p><p>“But why say <em> loup-garou? </em> Why not just call me a witch like everyone else?”</p><p>She has a point. Those who don’t like her birthmark have openly called her a witch, or at least called it a witch’s mark. Why bring wolves into it when the witch accusation is already there?</p><p>“Someone saw me change,” she murmurs. “When I was out in the stables, maybe.”</p><p>And even though Hamish has been the one nagging her about changing in the stables for months now, he finds himself helplessly saying, “We don’t know that.”</p><p>“They could’ve been out in the woods,” Yvon points out. “It gets so dark, maybe you didn’t know anyone was watching.”</p><p>“That wouldn’t happen,” Hamish says at once. “We know when there are people around. We can...smell them.” He hates admitting that, hates talking about the things he can do as a wolf, but they have to figure this out. </p><p>“Well, someone somewhere saw.”</p><p>“It was probably in Wobik,” Renardette says quietly. “I try to be careful, but…”</p><p>But she’s a child, with a child’s caution. Of course she doesn’t think about these things. </p><p>
  <em> And now someone knows. </em>
</p><p>“It will be alright,” Hamish says with an optimism he doesn’t feel. “Whoever threw the rock was too cowardly to show themselves, so they must know that people would have trouble believing them.”</p><p>The door opens again, and again they tense, looking at the intruder. It’s Mathilde, clucking her tongue. “Renardette, dinner is not over! Please come inside and help me tend to our patrons.”</p><p>Renardette sulks, handing Hamish’s coat back to him as she follows Mathilde inside. The innkeeper gives the two men a stern look, and they know that even though she has not said it, she expects them to come back inside, too.</p><p>Hamish continues his watch over the evening’s patrons, wondering if any of them are responsible for the rock, but if they are, they’re not giving it away. They finish their dinners in peace before bidding him a goodnight.</p><p>When the last guest leaves, Mathilde orders Hamish and Yvon to lock the doors and draw the shades before the five of them sit down in the dining room. </p><p>“Do we know who threw the rock?” she asks bluntly. </p><p>“It could have been anyone,” Elisabeth says. “People here are…”</p><p>“Small-minded,” Yvon fills in.</p><p>She nods, reaching for his hand. “Yes, small-minded.”</p><p>“What I keep returning to,” Mathilde says, “is this <em> loup-garou.” </em></p><p>Hamish, Renardette, and Yvon sit frozen, trying not to look at each other and give anything away. </p><p>“Don’t you think it’s strange?” she prods when no one says anything. “I mean, why <em> loup-garou?” </em></p><p>Elisabeth surprises them all by saying, “My husband said there was a <em> loup-garou </em> in the woods. Well, Monsieur Trepagny said it, and my husband was just repeating it. He claimed he could hear it at night, moaning and howling.”</p><p>“How did he know it was a <em> loup-garou </em> and not just a wolf?” Yvon asks curiously</p><p>“Why does Monsieur Trepagny say anything?” Mathilde scoffs. </p><p>“Did other men believe this story?” Hamish asks Elisabeth, who shrugs. </p><p>“I don’t know. Monsieur Trepagny liked to talk. But maybe someone did believe him.” She hesitates, glancing at Renardette. “The <em> loup-garou </em> isn’t just half man, half wolf, it...it can be made from a witch. Some men believe Renardette has a witch’s mark...perhaps…”</p><p>“They believe Renardette is Monsieur Trepagny’s mysterious creature,” Mathilde says flatly. </p><p>Hamish considers this. “Do you think it might be Monsieur Trepagny who left the note?”</p><p>“No,” Mathilde says without hesitation. “It’s not his way. Monsieur Trepagny is...ostentatious. He wouldn’t hide behind a rock, and we would surely know if he was in town. Not to mention, he has always been friendly with the tribes in this area, so I do not think he would call Yvon a <em> sauvage. </em>”</p><p>She makes a point, and Hamish doesn’t know if ruling out Trepagny is helpful or not. On the one hand, it’s one less suspect...on the other, it brings them no closer to finding out the truth.</p><p>“Unfortunately,” he says slowly, “I don’t think sitting here is going to help us find the person responsible for this. And maybe we don’t need to. Maybe this was a child’s prank.”</p><p>“Or maybe it was something more serious,” Elisabeth insists. “What if the rock had hit one of us?”</p><p>“What if they knew we weren’t in the room and knew no one would get hurt from the rock?” he counters. </p><p>“I have to say, I’m with Hamish on this one,” Yvon says gently. “We don’t know enough yet to draw any conclusions. What if this was just a young person stirring up trouble?”</p><p>“But what if it wasn’t?”</p><p>“Then we’ll know soon enough,” he says in the same gentle tone of voice. “And if they try something like this again, we’ll have one more clue than we did before.”</p><p>Neither Elisabeth nor Mathilde seem very happy with this response, but there’s nothing else they can do. Their best bet is to wait it out; either this is an isolated incident and nothing will come of it, or whoever threw the rock will do something else, and they’ll have more to work with. </p><p>All the same, when Mathilde and Elisabeth go to wash dishes, Hamish stops Renardette.</p><p>“I don’t think we should walk tonight,” he says in a low voice. He’s been thinking about it, and if someone <em> has </em> seen him or Renardette change, it would be best for them to lay low for a little while. “In fact, I think we should give it a few nights.”</p><p>Her face is crestfallen, but she nods. Until this blows over, they can’t risk getting caught. </p><p>.</p><p>Hamish is so used to his evening walks that he finds the night interminably long. He briefly considers just taking a short walk within the settlement walls, but Elisabeth, mending a coat by the fire, will not hear of it.</p><p>“What if the person who threw the rock is out there and you’re caught unawares?” she demands. “What if he throws another rock at you, and hits you this time?”</p><p>He elects to stay at the inn so as not to upset Elisabeth, but in truth, some part of him wonders if she isn’t right. What if whoever wrote the note saw him or Renardette or both change, and they’re watching to see if he’ll come out? It’s unlikely, but then, it’s that sort of thinking that got them sent a note in the first place. </p><p>He passes the restless night with agonizing slowness; by the time the first streaks of dawn light the sky, he is already dressed and tending to his morning chores. </p><p>Renardette is up early, too, and once the necessary work is out of the way, they decide to make for the orchards. Hamish had hoped that the long-promised apple-picking would lighten their spirits, but they are both quiet and solemn on the walk, and not even the apples littering the ground or hanging heavy from the trees bring them relief. </p><p>Renardette has barely begun to fill her bushel when she sinks to the ground. </p><p>“Father Clape saw me change.”</p><p>Hamish knows. He’s kept an eye on the Jesuits, most of whom are dead or have disappeared by now. “Father Clape didn’t throw the rock.”</p><p>“But what if he told someone?”</p><p>“He was ranting and raving like a lunatic,” Hamish reminds her. “He called you Azazel, remember?”</p><p>She considers this. “What’s an Azazel?”</p><p>“It’s the name of a demon in the Bible.” He might’ve known which demon, once upon a time, but it’s been so long since he read the Bible. </p><p>“Maybe someone believed him.”</p><p>“I very much doubt that. We found Father Clape in a loincloth and raving. He drank water on all fours like a dog. Whatever he said in that state, no one was going to believe him. If he’s recovered, he probably thought he was hallucinating.” Seeing that she doesn’t look convinced, he kneels down to talk on her level. “We don’t know who sent the note or what made them write it. There’s no use worrying about it overmuch. We just have to be careful for a little while to make sure, that’s all.”</p><p>“I hate it,” she murmurs fiercely.</p><p>“I know. But better to be safe than sorry.” He pulls her to her feet. “Come on, you’ve wanted to pick apples for weeks now. Let’s not let this business ruin that.”</p><p>She follows him, picking up her basket with a small smile. </p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>They are both in a better mood by the time they return to the inn, their walk slowed by the overflowing bushels of apples they carry. </p><p>Yvon, Elisabeth, and Mathilde are standing in the dining room, talking in low voices when Hamish and Renardette open the door. </p><p>“Oh, good, you’re back!” Mathilde says, her voice pitched higher than normal. “How was apple-picking?”</p><p>Hamish immediately senses that something is wrong. Renardette senses it, too, because she asks, “What’s going on?”</p><p>Mathilde and Elisabeth glance at each other, but Yvon holds up a piece of paper. “Another note from our mysterious friend.”</p><p>Hamish sets down his bushel with a feeling of dread. “What does this one say?”</p><p>“Same as yesterday.”</p><p>“Well, whoever it is isn’t very creative.”</p><p>“This is serious!” Elisabeth says shrilly, looking nervous. “They broke another window pane! And they’ll keep breaking them until they get what they want!”</p><p>“There’s no need to get upset,” Mathilde says gently, but even she looks afraid. “However, I think I had better alert Captain Firmin.”</p><p>Hamish and Yvon share a wordless exchange, one that ends with them nodding in agreement. The closeness of the two attacks does not bode well, and Hamish can only imagine that it will get worse if the authorities do not become involved. </p><p>Not that he would consider Captain Firmin, Bouchard’s rather hasty replacement, a true authority, but it’s better than nothing. And who knows? A visible investigation from the law may be enough to deter whoever it is--at least for a little while.</p><p>.</p><p>Captain Firmin, unsurprisingly, is of little help.</p><p>“It looks like they broke the window panes,” he offers.</p><p>“Of course they broke the window panes!” Mathilde bursts unhappily. “That’s why we summoned you here!”</p><p>“Did you see who did it?” he asks, scratching his head. </p><p>“No, we did not,” Hamish says, answering before Mathilde can explode. “But it happened two days in a row, they left the same message both times.”</p><p>“Perhaps you could speak to the other businesses and see if they saw anything,” Yvon prompts.</p><p>“An excellent idea,” Captain Firmin decides. </p><p>“Isn’t there anything else you can do?” Mathilde asks sharply. “Assign a guard, perhaps?”</p><p>“Perhaps,” he says without enthusiasm, “but my resources are limited, Mathilde, and no one has gotten hurt.”</p><p>
  <em> “Yet.” </em>
</p><p>“Yet,” he allows. “It could just be some children.”</p><p>“Or it could be a lot worse.”</p><p>“I will speak to the other businesses,” he says firmly. “And then we will see.”</p><p>As soon as he’s gone, Mathilde says, “I will have lost every pane in the window by the time he does something.”</p><p>“At least word will get around,” Yvon observes, peering out the window to watch the captain. “Maybe it will be enough to scare off whoever’s behind this.” </p><p>“I doubt that,” Mathilde says tersely. </p><p>“Well, the good news is that Wobik is very small, so our list of suspects is limited,” Hamish points out. “Even if the captain does nothing, we shouldn’t have any trouble sniffing out the culprit.”</p><p>And then he looks at Renardette, their eyes widening at the same time.</p><p>.</p><p>Hamish takes the notes up to his room on the pretext of storing them safely. Renardette follows, and as soon as she’s closed and barred the door behind her, they slip into their wolf skins. </p><p>Their sense of smell is always heightened in wolf form, and Hamish honestly can’t believe he hadn’t thought of this yesterday. They know almost everyone in or near Wobik, and they should be able to pick up the scent from the notes.</p><p>There is something vaguely familiar about the scent, but nothing that jumps to mind. When they change back into their human skins, he asks Renardette if she recognizes the scent. </p><p>“It’s familiar,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “But I don’t know where.”</p><p>“Neither do I.”</p><p>She drums her fingers on her jaw. “Does it smell like more than one person to you?”</p><p>He looks at her sharply. “You think so?”</p><p>“Maybe. I don’t know. It could just be the rock.”</p><p>That is true. There’s no knowing who all handled the rock prior to their assailant picking it up. But even so…</p><p>“It will come to me,” Renardette says at last. </p><p>“I hope so.” He puts away the notes. “In the meantime, let us hope that Captain Firmin’s inquiries dissuade our friend.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Miraculously, Captain Firmin’s inquiries </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> seem to do the trick. No more rocks are thrown, no notes are left, and Mathilde replaces the window panes just in time for the first snow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish is not so foolish as to believe that this is the end of their trouble, but he does feel better knowing that even Firmin’s meager attempts at maintaining law and order have had some effect. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Autumn grows colder, the snows falling heavier as winter draws nearer. Yvon and Elisabeth’s wedding also draws nearer, an event that, while humble, still excites Mathilde and Renardette. It will be a small ceremony, with only a handful of people in attendance, but Mathilde is planning to whip up a veritable feast. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A good wedding makes for a good marriage,” she tells them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That explains my first marriage,” Elisabeth mutters. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though this will be her second marriage, Elisabeth seems no less excited about it. She did not have a real wedding with her first husband, only the simple ceremony that the church had sanctioned for the </span>
  <em>
    <span>filles du roi,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and that marriage had been so loveless that Hamish would even go so far as to say Elisabeth had hated her first husband. This time will be different; there will be a real wedding, because she and Yvon love each other and want to spend the rest of their lives together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone is in high spirits, but they come crashing down the day before the wedding.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish wakes to Renardette screaming. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s out of bed in a heartbeat, yanking on pants and his boots before grabbing his rifle and running down the stairs. Yvon is right behind him, Mathilde and Elisabeth throwing open their doors and talking to each other in terrified voices. Hamish pushes his way out to the vegetable garden, heart pounding as he looks for the danger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Renardette is in her nightgown, her shawl abandoned on the ground. She’s unhurt, but he cannot say the same for the rabbits in the hutch. They’re a mass of bloody fur now, and written on the fence in dripping blood is the same message that was thrown through the window twice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Get </b>
  <b>out</b>
  <b> English, </b>
  <b>
    <em>sauvage,</em>
  </b>
  <b> and </b>
  <b>
    <em>loup-garou.</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish moves forward, draping the shawl over Renardette’s shoulders and turning her away from the hutch. She clutches his shirt, sobbing. She’d loved those rabbits, something that had always amused him; rabbits are the natural prey of foxes, her preferred form, but she’d adored her rabbits, setting them in her lap or letting them wander around the stables. He knows she also used to sneak them into her room sometimes, despite Mathilde’s express wishes that they stay outside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good heavens,” Mathilde murmurs when Hamish brings Renardette inside, wrapping her arms around the crying girl. “This is serious.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to get the captain,” Hamish says, making his way upstairs to finish dressing. “They’ve taken this too far.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even Captain Firmin, for all his blithe incompetence, seems shaken; less so by the message itself than for the way it was presented.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is quite serious,” he observes helplessly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you going to do about it?” Mathilde demands. “This isn’t just breaking a few window panes, they killed our rabbits and wrote in their blood!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I will make inquiries,” Firmin says, dabbing his forehead. Despite the chill in the air, he’s sweating. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“More inquiries!” Mathilde tuts. “Yvon and Elisabeth are getting married </span>
  <em>
    <span>tomorrow,</span>
  </em>
  <span> what if something happens at the wedding?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perhaps,” Elisabeth suggests quietly, “we should postpone the wedding.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Nonsense!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mathilde looks aghast. “Why should we postpone?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yvon and Elisabeth exchange uneasy looks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think whoever this is will take kindly to a </span>
  <em>
    <span>sauvage</span>
  </em>
  <span> marrying a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fille du roi,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Yvon points out. “They killed the rabbits to send a message, think what they’d do on the wedding day itself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish unfortunately has to agree. If this person was willing to come onto the property and kill rabbits to leave a message in blood, he doesn’t imagine they’ll stop there. No doubt some single man who was denied his own </span>
  <em>
    <span>fille du roi</span>
  </em>
  <span> feels slighted by her marrying an Anishinaabe man, despite the fact that no other men were pursuing Elisabeth in the time between her marriages.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish, sitting in a chair, straightens up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Some single man who was denied his own fille du roi.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s only one man Hamish knows that came close to having a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fille du roi,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but when the time came to consummate the marriage, he’d spurned her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pieces start clicking together. Pierre spurned his own </span>
  <em>
    <span>fille du roi</span>
  </em>
  <span> and was likely told he couldn’t have another one. He and his brother, Herve, sold some land to Elisha Cooke, a poor transaction that no doubt left a bad taste in their mouths. And he knows from Renardette that Herve had tried to force himself on Mathilde. Renardette had followed him out of Wobik and cut him with her arrowhead before…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before changing into a wolf and running into the forest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Captain,” he says, interrupting the conversation, “we don’t have a moment to waste. You had better get on with those inquiries, and see if you can’t assign a deputy to keep an eye on the inn.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone looks at him strangely while Firmin blusters his way through agreeing with Hamish while making it sound like his idea. At long last, he walks out of the inn and closes the door behind him, leaving the innkeeper and her employees alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you know, Hamish?” Yvon asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have a niggling suspicion,” Hamish says, standing up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mathilde puts her hands on her hips. “And what is your suspicion?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Gasquet brothers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone takes a moment to consider this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That...makes sense,” Mathilde says slowly. “But how can we be sure?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s them,” Renardette says suddenly. She looks at Hamish, nodding.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The scent from the notes. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Renardette?” Mathilde asks curiously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need to take a walk. Think some things through,” Hamish says, reaching for his rifle. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this, I promise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want to come too,” Renardette says at once.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mathilde shakes her head. “Renardette, I don’t like the idea of you wandering around when the men who have hurt your poor little rabbits are running loose…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be safe with Hamish,” the girl says stubbornly. “We always walk together.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mathilde purses her lips. “Well. I suppose that’s true.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No harm will come to her,” Hamish assures the innkeeper. “You have my word.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know.” Mathile throws her hands in the air. “But how am I going to finish this wedding feast!” She stalks into the kitchen, Elisabeth following her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yvon turns to Hamish and Renardette. “Be careful. I’ll cover for you as long as I can.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, Yvon.” Hamish grasps his arm. “You and Elisabeth will get married tomorrow, and all will be well. I promise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hope you are right.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as they are out of the settlement, Renardette turns to Hamish. “What are we going to do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think we should split up. One of us goes to Herve, one goes to Pierre. Neither of them should be home during the day; we can see if we can collect evidence.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want to kill them,” she says crossly. “Like they killed my rabbits.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can’t just up and kill them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>We</span>
  </em>
  <span> can’t, but a wolf could…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Renardette.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rolls her eyes. “Fine. I’ll take Herve.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you can finish what you started?” he asks wryly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gives him an impish smile and shrug. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighs. “Fine. I will take Pierre. We’ll meet back here once we’ve finished, yes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glancing back to make sure they are truly out of sight of Wobik, he changes into his wolfskin and lopes towards Pierre Gasquet’s homestead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Renardette has never been to Herve Gasquet’s home, but her fox nose leads her right to it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She remembers the way he’d groped Mathilde that night, when Renardette had hidden in the little cupboard and watched through the cracks. She had been paralyzed with fear that night, and she had sworn to never let it happen again. She had acted not long after, in fact, driving her arrowhead into his shoulder while he was taking a piss in the woods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe today she’ll finish the job.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish won’t like that, but there are so many things Hamish thinks he doesn’t like. The truth is, he’s afraid of anything that reminds him of the wolf. Killing bad men reminds him of the wolf. Being angry reminds him of the wolf. The wolf is only for moonlit walks in the woods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was afraid of the wolf once, too. When she was little, and knew that the wolf was a secret she had to keep. That was before she knew how much the wolf could help her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She isn’t afraid of the wolf anymore. It’s not her favorite skin to wear, but she is comfortable in it nonetheless. The wolf protects her. And who doesn’t want to feel protected?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sniffs the air when she closes in on Herve’s cabin, ears pricked, but there’s no sign of the man on the premises. He’s probably tending to his work, or lurking out in Wobik to see if anyone is doing anything about him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fox skitters through the humus, and once she’s reached the window, she sheds her orange fox pelt, becoming Renardette the girl once more. She peers inside the uneven window panes and sees an empty cabin. Even so, she opens the door slowly and quietly, gripping the arrowhead she always keeps with her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t know what she’s meant to be looking for, exactly. Hamish had said evidence, but what evidence would that be? More notes? That’s unlikely. A bloodied knife? But that doesn’t prove anything, and besides, they’d more than likely have the knives on them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There has to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> here, some evidence that they were the ones leaving the notes and killing the rabbits. Maybe she can find some of Herve’s handwriting and compare it to the notes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She moves carefully through his possessions, wrinkling her nose at his smelly laundry and unwashed dishes. She can’t find paper anywhere. Would he have it locked away, by some chance? Important documents he wouldn’t want anyone else to find?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gets on her hands and knees, searching underneath his bed. She’s found a chest and is dragging it out when she hears voices from outside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Gasquet brothers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shoves the chest back under the bed, scrambling to the window. They’re too close for her to escape now. Frantically, she looks for a back door or a window she can open, but there’s nothing. The only way in or out of the cabin is the front door, which Herve and Pierre are mere yards from now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She could run. Burst out of the front door, change into a fox, and scamper away. But they more than likely have pistols with them, and they could shoot her. They </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> shoot her, if they realized.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Go away loup-garou.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t think she could change now even if she wanted to. She’s always been like this, always too petrified to change her skin when she’s afraid. She was like this when the settlement burned down, finding it easier to climb up a tree in her nightgown than turn into a fox or a wolf.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hearing their boots on the front porch, she throws herself under Herve’s bed, tucking her dress under her and her limbs against her body just as they open the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They can’t stay here forever,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she tries to tell herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish can’t find anything at Pierre Gasquet’s cabin. Not that he knows what to look for, but he had hoped that something, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> would jump out at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In truth, he thinks some part of him had hoped Pierre himself would be there, so Hamish could question him. Perhaps Pierre would have admitted it if it was just the two of them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But there is no Pierre and no evidence, and Hamish is starting to give up when he hears it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A scream.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t hear it with his man ears, though. He hears it with his wolf ears, with the part of him that he tries to keep hidden during the day. He stalks outside, listening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows those screams. Those voices. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Gasquet brothers have found Renardette.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Herve’s homestead isn’t close, but he can </span>
  <em>
    <span>smell</span>
  </em>
  <span> her fear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her blood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tears into the woods, and it isn’t until he hears a wolf howl that he realizes he’s changed skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Renardette screams as Herve Gasquet pins her to the ground, wrestling the arrowhead out of her hand. She flails limbs leaden with fear, her lips trying to form a name.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If it isn’t the little wolf bitch herself,” Herve laughs, flinging the arrowhead to the side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She feels stupid. Stupid, and afraid. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the time she’d been under the bed, she’d heard them discuss the rabbits, and the notes. They had done it, and if she hadn’t been so afraid, she’d been angry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’d left the cabin after a time, and she’d been too eager to leave to be cautious. She’d climbed out from under the bed and slipped out the front door, but they were only talking by the woodpile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which brings her to now, screaming and thrashing beneath Herve Gasquet as he digs his meaty fingers into her arms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Make her quiet,” Pierre is saying nervously. “Before someone comes running.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Herve raises a hand to slap her across the face. Her head snaps to the side, her mouth filling with the hot, iron taste of blood. She spits out a mouthful, turning to bare her teeth at Herve.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Trying to scare me, wolf bitch?” Herve laughs. He leans forward, his stinking breath nearly gagging her. “Go on, then. Change into a wolf.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The growl that fills the glen wipes the leer off his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A big black blur pounces on Herve, bowling him over. Renardette sits up, watching as the wolf sinks sharp teeth into Herve’s neck, tearing loose his tongue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pierre screams.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Renardette smiles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish comes to over the mauled and bloody bodies of Herve and Pierre Gasquet, blood dripping from his mouth. He stares at their bodies for a long moment, knowing that they are dead, that he killed them, but unable to remember how. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I did this. I killed them. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he had to. They were hurting Renardette. Even from a distance, he’d heard her screams, smelled her blood. Her fear. He knew she was in danger, and the wolf had taken over. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks down at his shaking, bloody hands. He doesn’t remember turning into a wolf, nor does he remember turnin back into a man. He doesn’t remember anything after her scream.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hamish?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His breath is coming in short, hard gasps, his heart pounding so loudly he can hear the blood rushing in his ears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hamish.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Two slim arms wrap around him from behind, crossing his arms over his chest and squeezing him. Renardette presses herself against his back, the rising and falling of her chest reminding him how to breathe. Slowly, the trembling in his hands abates, his pounding heart slowing to a calm, steady beat. He tips his head back against hers, staring up at the sky as he breathes, in and out, in and out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s alright,” Renardette murmurs. “I’ll take care of you, the way you took care of me. That’s what we do. We take care of each other. Protect each other.” So quiet he could almost swear it was the wind, she whispers, “We belong to each other.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish closes his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What have I done?</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I know it's been a long time and I'm sorry! I honestly wasn't sure if I was going to continue. But I got some very lovely comments asking me to continue, so I'm going to try!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>April 1695</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hamish leans back in his chair, rubbing his temples as he glances at the clock. The hour is late, but in truth, he had hardly noticed, so intent was he on his ledger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He likes the work he does for the Company. It’s much the same as it was before; he sleeps in his old room and eats the same food and spends all day with the same numbers. The only difference is that Yvon is not here to force him to leave his ledgers and enjoy life once in a while. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has only exchanged a handful of letters with Yvon since he left Wobik, which is more the fault of the post than anything. Yvon always gives him an impartial account of Wobik and its residents, the inn and those who work there. He is careful not to mention Renardette more than is necessary, for which Hamish is grateful. He wants to know that she’s alright, but he doesn’t think he can bear to know more than that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not after everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It just hadn’t been the same after he’d killed the Gasquet brothers. The bond between them had morphed into something else. Renardette saw him as more than just her companion; she saw him as her mate. But Hamish could only see her as the child he pulled from the woods, and even though there was no danger of him returning her feelings, the fact that she felt them at all troubled him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More than that, though, it troubled him that he had reacted the way he did when he knew she was in danger. And he’s glad he saved her, of course, because Herve Gasquet may well have killed her, but the way he lost all sense of himself, the way the wolf took over and did not relinquish control again until the brothers were dead…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That frightens him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We belong to each other.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Those were the words Renardette had pressed into his back, branding them on his soul.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We belong to each other.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s never been able to imagine his future, because he knows that as soon as one makes a plan, the world has a way of undoing it. He takes life as it comes to him, knowing that the only certainty in life is that someday it will end. And he supposes that he had imagined Renardette might be part of that life in some capacity, because Renardette is the first, and so far only, person he’s met who’s like him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But to belong to her? To be her mate?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hamish cannot imagine that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rubs his temples again, finding a stopping place for the night. He pulls on his jacket and blows out the candles before leaving his tidy little office.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Company had been glad to take him back; they so often received, for lack of a better term, England’s rejects; unlearned second and third and fourth sons who came here to hunt. The incentives for educated men were always high, but it was still hard to find men who were willing to leave behind their lives in England, where they would not be in want of work nor a comfortable home and a family. Though there is plenty of work to be found for educated men with the Company, comfortable homes and families are scarcely a guarantee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Hamish doesn’t need either of those things. He just needs a small room that will keep him sufficiently warm in the winter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The early spring air is cool but not cold as he leaves the office, and he pauses for a moment to enjoy it. He doesn’t think he’s been outside once today, hunched over his desk and his numbers as he often is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Life is going to pass you by if you don’t look around and enjoy it once in a while,” Yvon used to tease him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As usual, Yvon had been right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hamish misses his friend. So few people in life had understood Hamish the way Yvon does. People often thought Hamish was odd, but Yvon seemed to find him endearing. It feels strange, to be back with the Company and not to have Yvon’s stolid presence nearby. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Yvon is occupied with his new wife, and soon to be child. His last letter bore the happy news, and though Hamish penned his congratulations, he secretly felt his first wave of homesickness. He would like to be there, to meet Yvon and Elisabeth’s first child...but the thought of going back to Wobik is unbearable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one had been happy to hear his news, and even Yvon had had difficulty understanding. He had tried to wait a respectable amount of time after the wedding, but the hurt was plain to see on Yvon and Elisabeth’s faces, and even Mathilde had seemed surprised and upset.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that had been nothing compared to Renardette’s rage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had shouted, she had begged, she had wept, and finally descended into cold silence. He had not expected her to let him go without a fight, nor had he expected his leaving Wobik to be easy, but it felt as if he was cleaving his soul in two when he finally boarded a ship headed north. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wobik was the closest thing he’d had to a home for so long. He’d only lived in Kirkwall for a few years during his childhood, and then he’d been packed off to school in London, where his dormitory changed every year, and as soon as he’d come of age he’d joined his sister and her husband on a ship headed for New France. Ever since then, he’d been roving around the continent, taking his assignments without argument, always pleased to have something to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wobik was the first place that had felt like a home, the first place where he lived because he chose to, and not because it was assigned to him. And like Kirkwall, like his dormitories in London, it is a place he can never return to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe not never. He had thought he’d never return to the Company, either, and look where he is now. But he has been able to remove himself from the Company’s bloody work up here, hidden away in his office. There’s no removing himself in Wobik. In Wobik, he would be forced to confront himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Forced to confront the wolf.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has not changed his skin once since coming back here. In fact, he has not changed at all since he saved Renardette. Even now, half a year later, he fears the wolf taking control again. He has always feared the wolf, and he was right to; look what happened to the Gasquet brothers.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They were hurting her, they might have killed her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But I still tore out their throats and savaged them, and I wanted to do it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not like Randall or Bill Selby or the other men who butcher for the sake of butchering. Taking another man’s life is only something that should be done when there are no other alternatives, and no one should ever take pleasure in it. And killing the Gasquet brothers </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> necessary, and he didn’t take </span>
  <em>
    <span>pleasure</span>
  </em>
  <span> in it, exactly, but he had done it so </span>
  <em>
    <span>easily,</span>
  </em>
  <span> without even stopping to think. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What was it that man had said to Bill Selby?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We are all animals. Animals without mercy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Now there’s a final truth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can still feel the wolf in him sometimes, pawing at the door and begging to be let out. And Hamish knows, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he cannot keep the beast inside him forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But for now, he is too afraid to let it loose.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a very very very short chapter, but it felt needed.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>September 1695</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The early autumn sun is beginning its slow descent, a chilly breeze dancing across the yard. Renardette shrugs her shawl up her shoulder, intent on her task of peeling potatoes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Through the open door, she can hear the others talking. Occasionally they try to include her in their conversation, but she doesn’t respond if she can help it. Not that any of them take it personally; Renardette doesn’t believe in speaking unless necessary, and she’s been speaking even less since Hamish left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you hear that, Renardette?” Mathilde asks, poking her head out of the door. “We’ll need apples. Perhaps you would like to go tomorrow? Yvon will help you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Renardette shakes her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perhaps you would prefer to go alone, then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Renardette shakes her head again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mathilde sighs, coming outside to sit on the step beside Renardette. “Why not? You love picking apples; you looked forward to it for weeks last year.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Renardette shrugs, still intent on peeling potatoes. “You need help. Elisabeth is with the baby.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My dear, I can manage alone for a few hours.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They are both quiet for a long moment, Renardette refusing to yield, Mathilde patiently waiting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is Mathilde who breaks the silence at last. “You are right that I need help. I need apples, and I am not young enough to carry bushels of them by myself anymore. Elisabeth is with the baby, as you said. So you and Yvon are the only ones I can entrust with this chore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Renardette is quiet for another long moment. Finally, “Alright.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mathilde tries not to smile. “Thank you, Renardette. You are a great help to me, as always.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Renardette says nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the morning, she and Yvon set off for the orchard. He makes the occasional comment, passing an observation on this or that, but Renardette does not speak at all, and so they fall into silence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is not until the first bushel is full that he finally breaks the lull. “It’s been almost a year, Renardette. Are you still so angry with him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His frankness surprises her into speaking. “Aren’t you angry with him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yvon gives her a small smile. “I miss him. I am upset that he left. But I understand his reasons for doing so. Hamish is...delicate, in some ways. Taking a life is not something he does easily.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She knows this. She’s always known this. It doesn’t make the pain of his abandonment sting any less.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He needs time. He’ll come back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lifts her eyes to Yvon, frowning. “You think so?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do. Wobik is the closest thing he’s ever had to a home. He left the Company once, and he’ll do it again. He just needs time to come to terms with what happened last year.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Renardette is quiet for a long moment, mulling this over. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The second bushel is nearly full before she speaks again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I won’t forgive him if he comes back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yvon hides a smile. “We’ll see.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Surprise! An update.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>May 1697</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As the boat rows into Wobik’s harbor, Hamish cannot help but wonder--not for the first time, and certainly not the last--if he is making a mistake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His contract with the Company had been for two years, as most of their contracts were, and they had not hidden their attempts to get him to renew. Hamish had even briefly considered it; it was late November when his contract expired, and the winter roads and seas made travel impossible. But he only took a six month extension, and when that was over, he’d packed what few belongings he’d taken with him and boarded a ship headed south.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In many ways, he still does not feel ready to return to Wobik, but in many more, he knows he is. Even as he climbs out of the boat, he begins to feel a sense of relief, almost like…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s coming home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s what he imagines going back to Kirkwall or his dormitories in London would have felt like, had he ever been afforded the opportunity. Going back to a place where he had belonged, for however brief a time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He belongs here. He knows that now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The little village has grown in the two and a half years he’s been away. The timber walls have been torn down and rebuilt to accommodate the town, which is no longer three small rows of houses and shops, but six now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Le Grand Inn, however, has not moved.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nor has it changed, he sees as he approaches it. It still has the same sign, of Mathilde, Francis, and Veronique, though two of the three are long dead and a new family has taken up residence at the inn. Smoke is curling up from the chimney, and when Hamish pushes open the door, he finds that the inn looks and even smells almost exactly the same as before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Be with you in a moment!” Mathilde calls from the back, where he can hear the clatter of dishes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Take your time,” he calls back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is a pause, and then Mathilde comes through the door, wiping her hands on her apron. She looks the same, too, and her eyes widen as she takes in her guest. “Hamish!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello, Mathilde,” he says warmly, moving forward to embrace her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Goodness!” she exclaims, recovering long enough to return the embrace. “I did not know you were coming!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did not write; I apologize for that,” he says sincerely. “In truth, I almost turned back half a hundred times.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I am glad you did not,” she says, pulling back to look at him. “Are you here for a visit, or…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, actually,” he says, flushing a little, “I had hoped there was an opening here. For me. I know it’s sudden but--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nonsense; there is </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> a place for you here,” she insists. “I presume you are still not above bookkeeping?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing would make me happier.” She turns her head to the stairs. “Yvon! Elisabeth! Come say hello!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello to whom?” Yvon asks, his boots thumping on the stairs. He stops short when he sees Hamish, his mouth falling open. “Hamish!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish beams, embracing his old friend as he comes down the rest of the way to meet him. “Hello, Yvon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did not know you were coming.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s because I did not tell anyone.” Hamish smiles. “You look well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you look like you’ve seen better days.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish laughs at that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hamish?” Elisabeth asks, coming down the stairs. She has a baby in her arms, and another one in her belly, from the look of it. Hamish embraces her lightly, pulling back to politely inquire about the little girl in her arms. They tell him her name is Yvette, and she’s the happiest baby anyone could ask for. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For his part, Hamish has never much liked children, and there is something vaguely alarming about the way this baby stares at him, but he supposes that she is a sweet child nonetheless.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The four of them talk for a long time, catching each other up...but sooner or later, they run out of things to catch up on, and the inevitable question looms over them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish clears his throat. “Renardette?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yvon and Elisabeth exchange looks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She is quite well,” Mathilde says calmly, but there is a note of trepidation in her voice. “That being said...she may need time to...adjust. I would be surprised if she didn’t already know you were here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He would be surprised, too. She has always been perceptive, relying on her animal instincts to keep her safe; he wouldn’t be surprised if she sensed him the moment he set foot in Wobik and is hiding out in the stables now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, let her hide. He knows that his leaving had hurt her, and he doesn’t expect his return to change that. He’ll have to work to regain her trust. It will take time and patience, but he has an infinite supply of both. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In fact, he does not see Renardette until dinnertime, when he takes his old place by the counter and she goes out to serve the customers. He almost doesn’t recognize her at first; she’s grown in the last year and a half, and the girl he once knew is now a young woman. Her face is leaner than it once was, her eyes sharper, and she looks more like a fox than ever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>If I keep changing, will I start to resemble a wolf?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t look at him once, to the point where it becomes obvious she’s avoiding him. He doesn’t mind. Most of the patrons are the same regulars as before, and they all want to hear where Hamish has been and what he’s been up to. Knowing the hatred for the Company in these parts, he tells a vague story about working up north before turning the subject to them. People like to talk about themselves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After dinner, he helps clean up, and the old motions come back to him without his even having to think about it. The banter comes easily, the motions comes easily, all of it comes easily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Until he turns to grab a stack of plates and comes face-to-face with Renardette.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and then they narrow, anger boiling behind them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish lowers his eyes first, standing back to let her pass. She does so in an angry whirl, brown curls dancing with the ferocity of her movement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as she’s gone back to the dining room to get more dishes, everyone trades raised eyebrows. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If looks could kill,” Mathilde says, “you’d be a dead man, Hamish.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They sit up a long time after the dishes have been cleaned, gathered around the hearth and talking. Renardette does not join them, preferring the company of the rabbits outside than the people inside. Well, one person, at least.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Elisabeth, Yvette, and Mathilde have gone to bed, Yvon turns to Hamish with an expectant look.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” he says in English.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” Hamish echoes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What made you come back?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish leans back in his chair. “My contract was over.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know very well that that is not what I meant.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes a deep breath. “I felt...I was tired of running. I wanted to be settled somewhere. Home. I thought that place might be the Company, but…” He shakes his head. “It was here in Wobik, of all places.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your pack is here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish gives him a look. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are a wolf, Hamish, no matter how hard you try to deny it. And you came back to Wobik because of that wolfish nature. You need to be around people like you, people who make you feel as though you belong. You had never belonged anywhere until we came to this place. I had never. Elisabeth had never. Renardette had never.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish lowers his eyes. “How is she? Really?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yvon heaves a sigh. “She’s alright. It took her a long time to move past...well, you. She still goes on midnight walks. Sometimes she disappears for a day or two, but not often. She’s too loyal to Mathilde to leave her in a bind.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish nods, absorbing this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think she understands why you left,” Yvon says slowly. “But that doesn’t mean she’ll be quick to forgive you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t expect she would,” Hamish says wryly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She will, though. Eventually.” Yvon heaves himself to his feet. “I think Renardette could forgive you anything with enough time.” He rests a hand on Hamish’s shoulder. “It’s good to have you back, Hamish.” And with that, he heads upstairs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish waits until the footsteps upstairs have stilled, until the inn seems asleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Only then does he get up to go on a midnight walk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He walks in his human skin, his feet carrying him through the village without a second thought. Even though the village is bigger now, the layout slightly altered, his feet still know the way. They carry him up the slope and into the woods, where he becomes accosted by familiar sights and sounds and smells. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Smells.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wolf in him, the part he’s kept buried these last two years, rears up at once, smelling something familiar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without meaning to, without even thinking about it, he slips off his human skin, the forest becoming sharper and clearer through his wolf eyes, his wolf ears, his wolf nose. And through his wolf eyes, ears, and nose, he becomes aware of a fox eyeing him from the shadows, crouched defensively. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Renardette.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She isn’t a fox kit anymore, but a full grown vixen, and when she growls, it sends a jolt of fear through him. He stands there, watching as she backs away; finally, she turns and darts into the forest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That could’ve gone better...but then again, it could’ve gone a lot worse, too.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It has been pointed out to me that I totally biffed the timeline and just like...forgot how time works. I went back and edited it, but tl;dr Renardette is 16 when the Gasquet brothers are killed, not 15, and 19 when Hamish returns to Wobik, not 17.</p>
<p>I failed my college math class, don't @ me.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Hamish settles back into life in Wobik with surprising ease. Life at the inn hasn’t changed much; he picks up more slack now that Elisabeth is pregnant, and now that she and Yvon have a little one to keep them preoccupied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone seems to dote on the little girl; even Renardette’s hard face softens for Yvette, smiling and pressing kisses to her cheeks. They play in the stables together, or out in the garden with the rabbits. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish gives them a wide berth; not only does he not understand or particularly like children, but he knows better than to try and befriend Renardette before she’s ready. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The looks she gives him are still full of anger, and she still has yet to speak a word to him. He always backs away to let her past him, always makes himself small and quiet when she’s around. Dimly, he’s aware that this is the wolf in him, submitting to a stronger, fiercer wolf. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or in this case, a little fox.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t know which form she takes in the woods these days, because they make an effort to avoid each other during their midnight prowls. Sometimes he catches a whiff of her, but never for long.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In truth, he misses her more than he thought he would. Whenever he’d thought of Wobik, he would remember how he’d always felt that he belonged there, that he’d had people who accepted him. He hadn’t realized how much of that acceptance came from Renardette, nor how much he’d relied on it. It is quite one thing to work at the inn alongside Yvon and Mathilde and Elisabeth; it is quite another for someone to know him, fangs and all, and accept him anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Renardette does not accept him anymore, and he’s starting to realize just how outcast he feels without her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Days pass, and then weeks, and before he knows it, it is summertime. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ships begin arriving from across the sea, bearing barkskins and traders and a handful of </span>
  <em>
    <span>filles du roi,</span>
  </em>
  <span> pale, frightened looking things who will be snapped up quickly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is a shortage of women here in Wobik, even as there is an abundance of single men ranging from eighteen to eighty. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>filles du roi</span>
  </em>
  <span> can choose their husbands and take their time doing so, but Elisabeth says that no woman wants to wait. Even if the men are old and ugly with bad breath and few prospects, they are better than what awaits many of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>filles</span>
  </em>
  <span> back in France. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Besides,” she adds, “when you have dozens of men gawking at you all day every day, you just want to get it over with. Some of these girls will marry just so they’ll stop feeling like meat in the market.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamish knows all too well. He sees the looks the men at the inn give Renardette, their eyes tracing the shape of her body beneath her clothes. It sickens him, but there’s nothing he can do about them looking at her. She’s nineteen, not a child anymore, and she </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> pleasing to look upon. As much as he hates that he has that thought, he knows only a fool would deny her beauty. She is no longer that frightened, feral child he found in the woods a lifetime ago. She is a beautiful woman now, one who can hold her own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he’s seen her hold her own. On the rare occasion a patron grabs her, fingers closing around her wrist or a hand patting her bottom, Renardette will bloody him before Hamish or Yvon can so much as blink. They always drag the man out after, blood trailing from his mouth or nose, and Hamish feels a wolfish sort of satisfaction from throwing the offending man out in the street. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is one night where it happens, some trader from France trying to pull Renardette into his lap while she refills his ale. Hamish is the one who gets there first, heaving the screaming man from his chair and between the tables, the other patrons laughing as they watch Renardette’s latest victim try to staunch the flow of blood from his broken nose. Hamish feels that wolfish satisfaction when he closes the door behind the man, some animalistic pride in being the one to turn him out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s what you get for trying to touch her,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks savagely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turns back to the dining room, dusting off his hands for effect. Some people are laughing, some are applauding, but he hardly notices them, for Renardette is staring right at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It isn’t an angry look, like the ones he’s used to. It’s almost…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hungry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he walks through the woods that night, he senses Renardette near him. He tries to avoid her, thinking their paths have crossed by mischance, but her scent follows him, becoming closer and stronger, and he realizes that she is following him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stops short, ears pricked as he waits for whatever this is. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It turns out to be an attack.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A wolf--a proper wolf, not a pup--leaps from the cover of darkness, landing on his back. He and the other wolf roll, Hamish shaking her off and backing up. She pounces again, but Hamish moves at the last second, hair standing on end as he tries to steer clear of her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is angry, and he can feel it, but he doesn’t understand. Why now? What did he do to provoke this?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Renardette snaps her jaws, growling, and he braces himself for another attack. When she leaps at him, he rises to meet her, knocking them sideways. He bares his fangs, but Renardette closes her jaws around his throat, drawing a whine of fear from him. Instinctively, he rolls onto his back, submitting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a long moment, he isn’t sure what’s going to happen next. Renardette is equal parts furious and satisfied, and she could be about to either kill him or let him go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She ends up changing her skin, the wolf becoming a woman again. She’s breathing hard, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead. “Even when I’m attacking you, you won’t hurt me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He changes his skin too, more rattled than he’d care to admit. “Is that what this was? Trying to see if I’d hurt you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes narrow. “You did it once. When you left me here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He closes his eyes. “Renardette--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No! You think you can just </span>
  <em>
    <span>leave</span>
  </em>
  <span> for two years and everything will be fine?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes a deep breath. “I don’t think that. I know you are angry. You have every right to be. I did not expect that you would forgive me easily. I know you hate me for leaving.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t hate you.” She sighs, joining him on the ground. “I wanted to. I still want to. But I can’t hate you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you’ve done a marvelous job pretending,” he mutters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s quiet for a moment. “I wanted to hate you, but I can’t, because...we belong to each other.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He closes his eyes again. Not this. Not again. “Renardette…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know it scares you. You’ve never belonged anywhere or to anyone. You’re afraid it will be taken from you, like everything else.” She moves closer, taking his hand. “And you were afraid because I was still young. But I’m not young anymore, and you came back here, so I know that you know the truth, even if you don’t want to admit it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Renardette...you are still young. You are...confused.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pulls her hand away. “You’re the one who’s confused. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> we belong together, Hamish.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes a deep breath before turning to face her. “I know that we are bonded in some way, yes. I know that you are the only other person like me I’ve ever encountered, and I know that I have been lonely without you, because no one understands what it’s like to be...whatever we are. But I do not desire you in the way you hope. I’m sorry for that,” he adds, wanting to soften the blow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Renardette is angry, and no amount of softening the blow will dull her anger. “Then why did you come back?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I came back because Wobik is the only place that’s ever felt like home. Because I missed all of you. And I had hoped that in time, we could be friends again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can’t be friends again,” she says, so definitively that it makes him wince. “Hamish, when you saved me, when you killed the Gasquet brothers--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He represses a small shudder at the reminder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“--something between us changed. I felt it, and I know you did too. We can’t go back to just being friends, because we’re more than that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am sorry you feel that way,” he says softly, getting to his feet. “I would like to be your friend again, Renardette.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t miss the hurt in Renardette’s face, but before he can say anything else, she changes her skin, and then an orange little fox is streaking off into the woods. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wants to believe that they </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> be friends again, that everything will go back to the way it was...but even so, he knows that it cannot be. Something between them </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> change, and no amount of wishing will un-change it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Renardette goes back to avoiding Hamish. There’s less malice in her silence now, but it stings him all the same.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A distraction, albeit an unwelcome one, comes in the form of fierce summer storm. Strong winds fell trees swifter than a barkskin’s axe, whipping the limbs this way and that. By the time the storm has rolled away, several window panes have broken and there’s a hole in the roof from where a sizable branch had been hurled into it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not too bad; the window panes can be replaced, and Hamish and Yvon can patch the hole in the roof without too much difficulty. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or so they think.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’ve not spent two days trying to patch the roof when Yvon pulls a muscle. He’ll recover, but he won’t be able to climb up on the roof for at least a week, and Mathilde cannot afford to let the roof go unmended that long.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I could ask around,” she says, a bit frazzled. “See if one of the men has time to spare…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know they won’t,” Hamish says grimly. “Even those whose houses weren’t damaged by the storm have their own work to do. Unless you were willing to pay more than their wages…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I cannot afford that,” she sighs. “Nor can I afford to leave the roof in disrepair.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can do it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They look up to see Renardette standing in the doorway, watching them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mathilde considers this. “Well...that might not be such a bad idea. Hamish?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugs. “I see no reason why not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll need clothes,” Renardette says. “To work in. I can’t work in this.” She tugs at her skirt, which is indeed unsuitable for climbing up on a roof. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can borrow some of mine. They’ll be a little big, but you’ll be able to move.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Renardette nods, an unreadable look on her face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, Hamish,” Mathilde says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s nothing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Hamish is about to find out it is very much not nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Renardette comes down in the morning, wearing Hamish’s tunic and pants, his heart skips a beat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Logically, he knows--he </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> known--that Renardette is a young woman now, and no longer a young girl. Logically, he has known that beneath the layers of her dress is a woman’s body, and not a girl’s, and he has tried not to think about it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But with his shirt tucked into a belt cinched tight around her waist, he cannot do anything </span>
  <em>
    <span>but</span>
  </em>
  <span> think about it. The shape of her body is evident beneath his clothes, tucked into boots and a belt so they won’t hang off of her, and it alarms him how alluring he finds it all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m no better than the men who grab her,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks bitterly, lowering his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He spends the next three days avoiding looking at Renardette, absorbed in patching the roof. Luckily, looking at her is not required for this job. In fact, the two of them hardly even speak; so much of the work is silent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instinctive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They work side by side and across from each other, hands working together. Every now and then, Hamish will reach up to wipe the sweat from his brow, and forgetting, his eyes will travel up and he’ll see her, locks of hair falling loose from her bun, his clothes clinging to the curves of her body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Damn you, you lecher,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he curses himself, lowering his eyes again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the one hand, he knows it’s only natural he should notice her. On the other, he feels abhorrent for it, as if her trust has been betrayed somehow. He found her as a scared child in the woods; he shouldn’t be noticing her body now, shouldn’t feel his pulse quicken at the sight of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps she was right. Perhaps they can’t go back to being friends. Not if he’s going to look at her like this, not if she’s going to insist that they must be together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It saddens him, to think that their friendship might be a thing of the past. That the one person who truly understood what it’s like to be half-human is someone he can no longer be friends with. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will they ever be able to talk again? To share those midnight walks in companionable silence? Or will it always be like this, working together but never speaking, never looking, just...avoiding each other until they can be apart?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a miserable kind of existence, and he wonders again if he did the right thing in coming back here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It isn’t that he isn’t happy to be back, because he is...but in many ways, he feels he belongs here as much as he belonged with the Company. There is a place for him and companionship when he seeks it, but the old, easy belonging is gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Will I ever belong anywhere the way I once belonged here? Did I ruin it by leaving?</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>But no, he left because he knew even then that the old belonging was slipping away, that it was morphing into something else. Even if they were to be friends again, it wouldn’t be the same as before. It would be different. Strained. Uneasy. Something unspoken lurking between the two of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you going to leave again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks up at Renardette, blinking. “What makes you say that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shrugs, turning back to her work. “You look scared again. Like you’re thinking of running.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s quiet, unsure of what to say. She knows him too well, and he can’t decide if that’s a good or a bad thing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To his horror, Renardette moves until she’s beside him, her knee brushing his. “You said I was confused. But I know what I want. You’re the confused one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He feels both burning hot and icy cold, and without so much as a word, he climbs down the ladder and makes for the woods, his heart pounding. He does not stop until he’s deep in the forest, sweat running down his back and his breath coming in short bursts. Only then does he lean against a tree and pull himself free, eyes closed as he works himself to relief. He sees the swell of her breasts beneath the neckline of his shirt, the sweat beading on her neck and making her hair stick, feels the brush of her knee against his.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He finishes hot with shame, his entire body trembling as he finally accepts the truth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He and Renardette can never go back to being friends.</span>
</p>
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